Gignomai
by Hemlock
Summary: A man wakes up with no clue of who he is, and later on discovers he has mutant ability.


I'm so alone, and I feel just like somebody else  
Man, I ain't changed, but I know I ain't the same

- One Headlight, The Wallflowers

* * *

**One**

It always starts at the end of something else. The problem is, I could not remember what was the end.

All I could recall was a heavy sensation at the back of my neck and waking up to a busy scene. People rushing by as if in a blur, and there was a huge clock staring down at me with its ever-changing face. Now it said 4.30. I supposed it was afternoon. Rush hour was upon this place. I looked around. Something inside me said 'Grand Central'.

Minutes later I was in the toilet, splashing my face, wiping it clean. I focused my attention at the reflection in the mirror. That was my face staring back at me. Somehow I found that reflection foreign. Could it be the stubble? Or my hair had been cut short? Maybe it was my eyes. They were wide with confusion. I – I could not even remember what I looked like until now –

I felt a sudden urge to throw up. But nothing came out except for air. I looked into the mirror again. My face was pale by now, but I felt a little better. Gasping for air, I slowly felt my breathing returned to normal. I braced myself at the sink, steadying my whole frame. Then I noticed something on my face. It looked like a long line of blue. It was runny from the water I had splashed upon my face earlier on. I did not notice it before; it was right under my nose.

I turned my palms toward my face. There were a few writings, which fortunately did not wash out entirely by my previous actions.

The first was:

YOUR NAME IS CHANCE BRENNAN

There was a crude arrow pointing down my arm. Unrolling my sleeves, I found more words written in black ink:

WESTCHESTER'S YOUNGSTERS INSTITUTE

The last one seemed to be out of place, yet it had been underlined repeatedly:

GOOGLE

I scratched my head as I left the toilet, rolling back those sleeves. A guard passed me by and I managed to get his attention. I asked him whether there was an Internet café nearby. He showed me instead to a standalone computer terminal and taught me how to use it. "Insert a quarter and you'll get 15 minutes," he said amiably.

As soon as the guard was out of sight I immediately entered Google's address and the words I saw just now. The first in line of thousands of results was an institute for mutants in Westchester, NY. Was I to go there? And for what? Whatever the reason, I might be able to find the answers there. I wrote down the address.

After a moment, I checked my back pocket. If I were to go to somewhere, I must have money. Good, there was a wallet. I looked for a bench and sat down at one near the guard station. I took it out and checked its contents. There was money, but only enough for the train to Westchester.

--

While waiting for the train to arrive, I mused to myself: am I really Chance Brennan? When I looked through the wallet just now while queuing for the ticket, I saw car license, ID card and ATM cards. All were under the name Chance Brennan. The photos in the ID and the license were also mine. Who am I before I woke up just now? 

Something flashed in my mind, but it was not the answer. It was as if I was watching it right in front of my eyes.

_He loses his balance and falls down into the tracks. The train runs over him. The lady right beside him screams and lets go her handbag, and the woman in front of me faints. That way, my train will be late._

I blinked again, and the whole scene disappeared. The track was still empty; people were still standing, looking irritated and impatient. I let out a breath and tried to recompose myself. It was stupid, I thought. What kind of a person was I to imagine such horrific death?

I took in another breath as my pulse finally steadied. A heartbeat later, all heads turned to the right. The sound of the train came faintly, but it got stronger. I heard whispers around me, saying that this was 'the express train – it doesn't stop here.' I sighed and moved a bit backward to release the stress in my feet. Where I stood I could see the tracks clearly.

Suddenly a man moved forward and lost his balance, just as the train was running by. A horrible sound of broken bones, crushed flesh and grinding machinery followed. A second of silence was broken by a woman's scream, followed by more screams. A fat woman fainted and fell upon me, bearing me down along with her weight.

The shortness of breaths returned, and so did the hurling sensation. But I was dumb to both sensations. I could only stare, dumbfounded, horrified. Now, my train would be really late.

--

Two hours later, fast bound to Westchester, I was still dumbstruck and my face was pale. The woman sitting beside me confirmed that again and again, and even offered me a candy bar. It helped, but only a bit.

Everything now seemed to click together. I was a mutant, looking for help, and the only place around here was Institute for Gifted Youngsters, in Westchester. That was probably my power, making things happen with just a thought. Closing my eyes, I could feel myself shrivel up inside at the thought. But –

Say that what had happened just now was a mere coincidence. A freak that happened once in a lifetime. That I had nothing to do with it, and I had the inopportune moment to think of that part at the same time. My eyes wandered to a fellow passenger who was asleep. The window beside him was shut tight, and there was no way the snow outside would come in and land on his lips.

_A snowflake floats onto his lips, waking him up and makes him yell like a girl. The poor guy would get red with shame._

I waited for a moment. A sudden lurch caught me off guard and I sat up straighter. Some heads went up, looking this way and that nervously. The conductor entered through one door at the end and some cold air blasted in. That moment, I saw a stray snowflake entered, floated slowly toward the sleeping man's face, landed on his lips, and the man jumped up screaming in a high-pitched voice. All eyes were on him as he slid down in his seat with a scarlet face. Some passengers smiled and giggled at the scene.

I was mortified, and kept silent.

_to be continued_


End file.
